


Those Little Things Called ‘Right Turns.’

by Sherb42



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Chick gets to be a weird uncle, Dinoco!doc, Gen, Humanized Cars (Pixar Movies), villain swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherb42/pseuds/Sherb42
Summary: After getting lost on his trip to a once-in-a-lifetime tie-breaker race between him and veteran of the sport ‘Doc’ Hudson, Lightning McQueen ends up stuck in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and forced to repair its main road.Or: An AU where Chick Hicks and Doc Hudson swap narrative places. Doc is a long-standing Piston Cup champion who seems to have the whole sport in the palm of his hand, and Chick is a disgraced former racer who long-ago ran away to Radiator Springs to distance himself from that life.Humanized.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. The King of Dinoco

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve skipped over most of the extra Non-Chick/Doc or ‘they’re just there so it works with humans now’ scenes that would usually be seen in this sort of human!au fic; I trust that you can work all that stuff out, they’re not all-that important in the long run – plus, you’ve already watched the movie. 
> 
> The title is taken from a line from the first Cars game, where Lighting says to Chick "Out here we have these little things called 'Right turns.' Also, I've been calling this fanfiction the 'Dadswap au' in casual conversation and I think that's an important point to bring up going in.

It was actually almost ridiculous – it was like something out of a dumb kid’s movie. The biggest, most important race of his entire carrier and he had ended it _sideways._ Well, halfway through a full spin around after smashing into a wall, forcing the racers behind him to slow down or go onto the grass to get around him - but sideways across the line none-the-less. That’s the important bit. The only thing that was distracting everybody from how movie-like Lighting’s finish had been was the fact that they didn’t actually know who had won.

Lighting McQueen sure had crossed the finish line sideways, but he sure as hell wasn’t the only car to cross at the same time; another one entirely had caught up to him just fast enough that there was now a pretty decent wait as officials had to go over to footage and figure out what had happened. The other car had to skirt on the grass, so there was some issue with getting the footage, or something, or at what point Lighting actually crossed the line. All that Lighting heard was ‘just wait around the pits for a moment.’

Lighting skulled half of a Vitoline can and wiped his mouth with a sweaty, yet completely hairless, arm – the arm tasted a little nicer. He was half-hiding in one of the partly empty pop-up tents behind pit row, stopping in there for a quick breather. Usually he adored the paps, don’t get him wrong, but it was always hard to keep the smile going for them right after a race; hence the ‘do not consume more than one in a 48-hour period’ warning labled’ed Vitoline in his hand. Lighting had done half a dozen talks to the cameras already, and he just need to take a breather before they would announce that Lighting had won and then it would be show time all over again.

He could hear it now, _‘Ladies and Gentlemen, for the first time in Piston Cup history, a rookie has won the Piston Cup!’_ And Dinoco, it would then transpire. Lighting sure loved the electric red and yellow he had at the moment, but blue? _Dinoco_ blue? Oh boy.

Fuck yeah. Dinoco blue. That’s where it was at.

Lighting took a peek out of the tent, and then snuck around the back entrance of it so he wouldn’t be stuck in a corner in there from a wave of people trying to talk to him. Nobody was looking his way at that moment, but one can never be too careful, can they?

That was his thinking, at least.

Lighting began to walk around in the warm night air, he dodged out of the way of a tire being rolled then then turned his attention to where everybody was hanging out. It looked like interviews, mostly. Those post-race interviews usually happened over there.

Two uniforms in Dinoco blue caught Lighting’s attention.

And there he was in all his old-man glory; the fabled Doctor Paul Hudson standing there still in full uniform, blue novelty, Apatosaurus-themed Dinoco sunglasses (that Lighting knew for a _fact_ cost like, five dollars at most from the concession stand) included. He was chatting away to one of the guys from his pit crew, both of them had sodas in hand. The tirechanger he was speaking to was sitting on a stack of spent tires.

Going once from the sleek, dark navy blue of Twin-H-Power to bright Dinoco blue after the untimely death of the late Strip Weathers, ‘Doc’ Hudson was the long-admired model image of the Piston Cup. It was like the man couldn’t do any wrong, he would win half a lap ahead with humility, and lose tightly with a smile and a cheer for the other guy. 

Lighting hated it. Oh _boy_ he hated it. That old man was almost _too_ perfect, he didn’t trust it. Not a single ex-wife coming forward? Not a pit crew member with some old dirt on what he’s like with the cameras are off? Oh, come _on._ Lighting never knew why, and he knew he had to be a good sportsman, but there was something about Hudson that got him like an ich right in the middle of your back that you can’t reach.

Whether he was right about it or just being petty, Lighting never fell for the good doctor’s grace. Sure, he had looked up to the man a lot when he was a little kid, but that can only go so far once the man beats you by a tire and then acts all friendly like you two just went to the pub together. 

Doc had started his racing carrier when he had still been a med student, and by the time he had graduated his racing carrier had advanced to the point that he didn’t even need to be a doctor in the first place. The lucky bastard didn’t even have to worry about student fees, not really. People seemed to always like that little tibit, and everybody just called the man ‘Doc’ anyways. He had short, almost-white hair and a well-maintained mustache that just screamed that he was somebody’s grandpa.

Doc saw Lighting staring down at him, and waved the younger racer over with a smile in his non-soda’ed hand. Lighting prepared a smile and jogged over.

“Pap’s givin’ you trouble?” Doc asked. He sounded southern.

“Never,” Lighting replied, pulling his hand through his long, blond hair. “And now-“

Doc quickly ‘shushed’ him. The tire changer giggled a little bit at that, Lighting didn’t have a good response.

Some of the reporters noticed that the two winners were talking together. It didn’t take them long to all turn towards the, camera flash and quote-hungry reporters flocked towards them.

Tell ya what, it would have been a great day to have been a moth. Doc shushed the paparazzi with a sharp ‘Oi!’. It actually worked - aside from one more photo being flashed. He gave his can to the crewman sitting nearby and turned to Lighting. Doc paused before he did anything more to ensure that he was being filmed, a few hand signs between him and some cameramen being exchanged to make sure of it. 

“Hey, kid,” Doc said with a hand on Lighting’s arm, “whatever the results of our near-tie may be, I just want you to know that you ran a fantastic race today.” God, he sounded more like a dad than usual.

Lighting put on a smile. He knew that whatever his response was going to be, it was going to be immortalized for the rest of his carrier. “Yeah, man, you too,” was what Lighting was able to come up within the half-second he had to think it up.

Lighting McQueen had finished his first season sideways, and Doc Hudson had finished his last season on the grass trying to get around him. This was going to be a fun race for the after shows to talk about – once we find out who actually won, that is.

The winners were called to the stands by the PA.

* * *

The atmosphere behind the stage was interesting, it was like the static buzz of a metal fence right before it zaps you. The third-place winner was talking to one of the camera people (not a presenter, but just one of the camera operators), but there was still no news as to what was going on with first and second.

Lighting didn’t like it. Sure, he knew that he had won alright, but the lingering thought that he might have not was digging into him. Maybe that was his collar.

Lighting loosened up his collar. That made it better.

There was the fuzz of a microphone being turned on, the racers behind got ready for the announcement. Lighting, still off to the side by himself, hyped himself up with a bounce and some pretend punches in the air.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer said, “for the winner of the 2006 Piston Cup, we have-“

Lighting prematurely burst himself through the curtain and posed.

“- a tie!”

Doc followed him out and stood next to him with a huge smile on his face – about 78% of it at Lighting’s expense. Lighting just tried to play it cool. He wasn’t very good at that.

“Piston Cup officials have determined that a tiebreaker race will be held in California in one week’s time,” the announcer continued. If he had said anything more, Lighting didn’t pay enough attention to hear it.

The other racer behind them just looked happy that he had been buffed up from third to second.

Lighting didn’t share that excitement. Streamers just flew all around him, a few getting in his hair. “Why would – why would they do another race?” Lighting asked, only half processing what was going on.

Doc patted Lighting on the back. “Another race means more tickets, more tickets mean more profit,” he explained to him quietly. Doc was waving on to the crowd with a smile.

“… Right,” Lighting said, looking on at the sea of people before him.

* * *

There had only been a few times that Lighting had ended up in court, right now was just the most recent on the list.

The courtroom was a bit smaller than you would have expected, and almost all of the chairs for it were over in dusty stacks over by one of the walls. There were a few old paintings on the walls of old settlers and a lot of natural sunlight, but it didn’t look like this place didn’t get used all that much. There were large fans up on the ceiling slowly rolling around, it felt the same as a briefing tent did when you’re the first person to get there.

Lighting blinked, it had been a long night and he still felt hungover. He had started the day in a prison cell that had been used to store boxes of paperwork with a half-crazy hillbilly watching him; and that hillbilly had been the one to escort him out from the cell and directly here. Lightly didn’t even get a chance to piss, not really. He was still in his racing suit and everything. They could have at least given him a new shirt.

The worse part about it all so far, was everybody else there.

It was a small audience of mostly older people, and all of them were yelling at him from the moment that he walked in. Aggressive yelling, oh boy they were mad at him.

There was nobody at the desk at the front, at least not yet. There was an older man in a police uniform next to it, a sheriff’s badge on his breast pocket and everything. The Sherriff watched Lighting be guided to the accused stand.

“Talk to me, baby,” Lighting asked the man in uniform halfway there, “How long is this gonna take?”

The Sherriff looked him up and down. He had a silver mustache and looked a lot better at the moment than he did in the 1 am flashlight light, while Lighting was lying in a muddy ditch after more or less being thrown out of his car window before the car drove itself into a completely separate ditch. That was an interesting event in itself, much more interesting than what was going on right now. The sheriff’s name tag just had ‘Sherriff’ on it.

“Where’s your lawyer?” Sherriff asked, not bothering to humor him. 

“I dunno,” Lighting said with a shrug. “Either Tahiti or Figi, I think. Whatever one his wife doesn’t know about.”

Sherriff sighed. “Oi- anybody want to be his lawyer?” he called out. Everybody else there went silent.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“I’ll do it!” Mater, the hillybilly guy, called out, more than a little excited at the idea.

Lighting winced. “Oh god, please no.”

Sherriff gestured his head to the side with a shrug in a ‘sure’ matter.

“Can I _please_ have a real Lawyer?” Lighting asked into the air as he was sat down at the offender’s desk.

The doors at the back opened on a perfect que.

And there she was. She looked like a goddess, the sunlight coming from a window shining down upon her soft brown hair and blue blazer. What was better was the fact that she arrived with a folder of paperwork.

Lighting pulled on Mater’s shirt, “Is _she_ a lawyer?” He asked, almost not believing what he was seeing.

“Yeah!” Mater replied. “How d’ya know that?”

“…Woah… Hey! Babe,” Lighting said, getting the women’s attention.

The woman stopped, turned around, and looked him up and down like a billboard on the outside of a phone booth that you see while walking home from getting milk. She walked over to him. “That’s me.”

“Hey, look, thanks for coming in on such short notice but I don’t think anything much is gonna come out of this,” Lighting explained, leaning forward to talk to her. “Just make sure I’m in and out of here quick, right?”

The women nodded slowly. “…. Alright, I can try.”

Lighting smiled, leaning even closer into her, close enough for it to be weird. “Great. Now you and I just gotta hang around until whatever bozo is in charge to show up.”

The women leaned towards on her own accord Lighting with her hands on the desk and smiled, “ _I’m_ actually the bozo in charge. But I do admire your spirit,” She said softly.

The smile quickly faded from Lighting’s eyes. “Right _.”_

“Hey, Mater,” the woman said with a smile as she leaned away from Lighting. 

Mater smiled back and tipped his ‘Tow Mater’-branded trucker’s hat, “Mornin', Sally.”

“Morning, everybody,” she said to the other people there. They all smiled and said a ‘hi’ back.

Lighting’s face still hadn’t changed.

“Right, then, let’s settle this quickly and cleanly, as per the accused’ request,” Sally said as she took a seat at the front. The cop behind her cracked a tiny smile under this mustache. The smile was directed at a significantly-less sure of himself Lighting.

“Name?” Sally asked after clicking a pen.

“Lighting McQueen.”

Sally looked up at him. “Is it?” she didn’t seem all that convinced.

“Yeah, it is, actually.” Lighting replied.

“Is that your legal name, Mr. McQueen? This is for actual court paperwork.”

Lighting’s face scrunched up a little bit.

“Mr. McQueen?”

“It’s ‘Monte,’” Lighting said under his breath.

“…’Monte McQueen?’”

Lighting grit his teeth. “…. Yes.” 

“Okay, thank you, Mr. McQueen,” Sally replied. “I’m Sally Carrera, and I’ll be-“

There was a series of semi-frantic banging from the outside of the door to the courtroom. Sally paused. More banging, and then a third set right before somebody towards the back opened the door. It wasn’t locked.

It was another person, Lighting just hoped he wasn’t his actual lawyer.

“Sorry I was late, Miss Carrera,” the man said as he closed the court-room doors behind himself, “I had to find a good tie.” He stooped halfway up the hallway, turned on his heel to look lighting up and down, and his smile only grew. Lighting sunk down into his collar – he didn’t have a good feeling about this.

The man was not wearing a tie. He was, however, in a green Hawaiian shirt covered in vintage cars under what looked like a well-worn grey blazer and decently pointed dress shoes. He was older, perhaps somewhere in his 40’s or 50’s, but moved as if he was the same age as Lighting and had no plans of slowing down. He had a dark mustache above his lip and a bit of a mullet, both badly needed a trim. He was slightly tanner than Sally was.

‘Miss Carrera’ exhaled. It was clear she was trying to be professional, but she was so well-used to whatever the man was about to do that she wasn’t holding her breath. Lighting just watched him walk right up to the stand as if he himself was the judge.

“What are ya thinkin’?” he asked her straight up, cutting to the meat of the conversation. 

“Good morning, Charles,” Sally replied, her hands together. “I was wondering if you were to join us today.”

“Who the hell is that?” Lighting asked with a bit of a hiss.

It took half a second for Mater to realize he was being asked a question. “Oh! Chick Murphy – he runs the used car lot right next to Filmore’s place – the one right across from mine,” he replied with a smile.

Lighting looked back over to ‘Chick,’ he could see the shine of a lot of hair product in his hair even from his stand, Chick looked like somebody’s uncle who had just gotten out of prison and wanted to look good when taking his niblings out to the beach for a Saturday. “…Yeah, I could believe that,” Lighting accessed.

Sally flicked through some of her paperwork. “Well, I’ve been looking over quotes all morning, and-

“- hang on, ‘quotes?’” Chick interjected his hands out. Chick appeared to be the sort of person who spoke a lot with his hands. “You’re not just gonna give the kid a fine, right?”

Sally paused. “Yes, why?”

Chick bit his lip. He was clearly thinking about something. “Look at – look at that kid,” Chick said, speaking faster than his body was actually able to keep up, “you saw the kind of car he tore up the main street with, a fine would hardly be a slap on the wrist to him.”

You could see Lighting’s face start to scrunch up with worry _. Where the hell was this man going with this?_

“Make ‘em fix it himself,” was where Chick was going with this, “We’ve got that old road paver behind the courthouse, right? Get him to fix the road himself and you don’t have to worry about having to pay road workers to do it. Fixes the problem and punishes the guy for it in one.”

“Hey!” Lighting called out from across the courtroom. “You’re not my lawyer.”

“Shut up, kid, this isn’t about you,” Chick replied with a snap of his fingers Lighting’s way. “What d’ya say?” He asked Sally with accidental, you’re-sitting-a-half-meter-higher-than-me puppy dog eyes.

Sally sat back in her chair and thought for a moment, looking nowhere in particular. She looked like she was already half agreeing with the man, but was doing her best to still keep professional.

“Come ooooooon,” Chick said, “where’s that preservational sprit? Where’s the Carrera-branded big speech about how great the ‘Mother Road’ and the town is? You’re the first person in the town I would think of wanting the road fixed asap – the kid can just do it.”

Sally’s face didn’t change. 

“Look – it took us what? Like five? Six? months to get that traffic light fixed when the line it was on snapped, right? And it still only blinks yellow.”

“It’s set to do that.”

“-You know what I mean. How long do you think a whole new road is going to take to get processed? Who the hell is going to let us use ‘manic NASCAR drive tore through town with half an old plow and an old statue being dragged behind it’ on the insurance? I wouldn’t take that.”

“’ _NASCAR_ ’?” Lighting explained, slightly offended at that. “I’m in the Piston-“

“I _said_ , stop yacking,” Chick called back once again. “Besides,” he continued, his voice growing just a tiny bit quieter as leaned towards Sally to say the next bit, “I don’t want him to go and do this to somebody else’s town. He looks like he needs a lesion in him. Or at the very least a haircut.”

Sally sighed. She had officiated worse. “… Alright. Somehow, Mr Murphy, you have made a good point – even if you’re not actually his lawyer." She looked down over to Lighting. "Community services it is, unless anybody here has any objections.”

"Hey!" Lighting’s face dropped, “I do!"

"Overruled," Sally replied. 

Chick’s smile only grew as he turned to Lighting to flash it. He looked very pleased with himself.


	2. I'm Not Adorable! I'm Not!

Now that everybody was outside in the daylight, you could actually make out what was all around. The ‘town’ couldn’t have been more than a street or two in size, and most of the stores along that street looked like they hadn’t been opened for decades, many of the ‘closing down sale!’ signs in the windows bleached blue from the sun. There was what looked like a mechanic’s with a lot of tires to sell, a decent-sized diner with some vintage gas pumps at the front, a motel or two towards the side, an old knick-knack store littered in route 66 merch, the big courthouse that they had just all gathered in surrounded with flower beds; there was really nothing here of note. It clearly was just some sort of former tourist trap/route 66-themed town that had long outstayed its use. A bit like a disposable minding town made just for the worker’s families to live in, but littered with discarded stacks of postcards with pictures of the dessert you could buy for a dollar.

And Lighting was now stuck in it. He could have started on his practice laps by now, but nope. He could have already started talk with the press, but nah. He was stuck here.

Lighting winced at the hot desert sun in his eyes, it was already later in the day than he liked it to have been. He still had his handcuffs on, and Mater was watching over him. Mater could have easy take Lighting down if he tried anything funny, and then probably just carry Lighting back to wherever he needed to be.

There was already a road paving machine out there just waitin’ for him. Mockingly.

The road itself was a mess – carved out in a light wave as if somebody had leaned out the back of a car’s tray with a pickaxe and held it down like a scaple – only worse. Aside from all of the evident new damage that Lighting was in trouble for, the road that had been underneath was grey and well-worn, there was only a suggestion of the yellow lines that would have once been there in years gone by. By the looks of it, the town badly needed an excuse to repave that road, and now they had gotten it. That old statue had also been returned to where it usually stood, but had yet been actually hoisted back onto the marble slate. He seemed fairly fine to just rest by the flowers for the time being.

Chick was one of the first to leave the courthouse, only because he was already standing up when it was dismissed.

“What the hell is your goddam problem?” Lighting scorned as soon as he saw him standing around the courtyard, lightly poking around what was left of the flowerbeds with his shoe.

Chick looked at Mater and then to Lighting. “I want my road fixed,” he replied, just as sternly. “So does everybody else here.”

“And I was _more_ than willing to pay for it!”

“Well then, too bad!” Chick wasn’t going to listen to Lighting’s whining.

“Look, gramps,” Lighting said with a shove to his voice, “I’m a racer, not a street paver.”

Chick swivelled around on his heel and looking Lighting up and down with a glance. “Really? I just thought that a professional racing suit covered in sponsorships, a big-ass number, and my name on it with some flames on my legs was just headed to be the hot new trend of 2007.”

“Fuck you.” Lighting spat.

Chick laughed about a ‘Ha’ and a half. Oh, he was enjoying this a little too much. “You’re rather adorable, ya know that?”

Lighting made a sound that could be described as an ‘UAH’ as he threw his hands up. “I’m _not_ adorable! I’m a grown-ass adult.”

“Well then,” Chick crossed his arms together, “then you’re more than capable of fixing the road.”

The young racer shot a glare his way. He looked like he had just been told to go to bed early.

Chick sighed. “Look – keep on the job nice and steady and you’ll be done in well under a week, easy-peasy.”

“A week? I gotta be in California by _yesterday_.”

“Then you better quick yackin’ and start pavin’,” Chick replied, “Look, I don’t care if it takes you an hour or a year ta’do, you own up to your mistake and then you’ll never have to step forward in this little town ever again.”

You could hear Lighting start half a dozen words at once to reply with, most of them in some degree of profanity. He took a few angry steps towards the paver machine. “I’ll show him, I’ll show him,” Lighting cursed under his breath with a mutter as he climbed in, the keys sitting on the dashboard.

It was hard to tell what exactly the expression Sally had on as she watched the conversation unfold. ‘Mild horror’ or ‘mild amusement’ came to mind, but neither was quite it. She hadn’t felt nervous about running the court procedure just before, but there was still a lingering feeling deep in her gut that she didn’t quite like.

Mater joined up next to her, waiting for her to say something. 

The yelling got worse, but neither Chick nor Lighting ended up touching the other.

“Chick’s got a gift for this sort of thing, huh,” Sally mused. 

Indeedy, it was like watching that joke where the action happens too far away for the microphones to catch anything, but in real life. The two of them watched Lighting storm into the machine after yelling one last thing.

A few beats went by before he opened the door again.

“How does this thing even work?” Lighting asked out, his tone suddenly earnest and speaking loud enough for others to hear him.

Mater piped up, “Oh! I can help ‘ya!” Mater called out as he went to meet him with a happy-to-help skip in his step.

Sally didn’t move, she watched mater stand on the steps up into ‘Bessie,’ as what it was named on the side, and pointed things Lighting’s way. She looked to the side, Chick was watching the two, his hands in his pant pockets. He left to go and open his store without another word. Sally also watched Lighting and Mater half-fight at those steps before Sheriff pass her with a nod of his hat, and join that conversation. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

“He’s done!” Mater called out with a bang of the door.

Chick had been working under a car at the time, the sound of Mater’s arrival startling him enough hit his head on it, making him roll out with a big black oil mark on his forehead. “What?”

Mater nodded quickly. “He’s done,” he replied with a big, buck-toothy smile. It looked like Mater had just been running.

Chick sat up and looked his way. Mater was holding onto one of the already doors, he must have knocked something over as he arrived. “It’s only been like, an hour,” he replied.

* * *

Lighting was done, sure, but he had done a pretty shit job all-in-all. He had sped through the entire process; none of the asphalt had been given a chance to properly cure, and what little that the machine was able to produce wasn’t nearly enough to actually count as any kind of a road. It actually almost impressive.

“Chick,” Sally said sternly, not even bothering to look at him.

Chick looked away from the new ‘road’ and down over at her, “…. Yeah?”

“Promise me that you’ll never get involved like this again.”

Well, uh-“

“ _Promise_ me _._ ”

“Yes Ma’am,” Chick surrendered. That was fair.

“This is all your fault.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lighting jumped down from the paver, he almost slipped off the last step if not for him being able to catch himself on the door handle. “I’m done! Okay! I’m done!” he called out to the increasingly growing crowd. Their expressions ranged from confusion to outright shock. “Can I go now?”

Mater was a little behind the rest of the group. He kicked, not very hard, a bit of the still-soft asphalt on the edge of the road. The bit broke off and peeled up like a scab under his boot. You could see Mater’s expression turn to that of mild fear as he pushed it back down. it clearly still looked like it had been lifted and didn’t sit right back in its spot.

“This looks _awful_!” Sally exclaimed. The other townies around her seemed to agree. 

Lighting shot her a half-arsed smile. “Now it matches the _rest_ of the town.”

Sally couldn’t verbalize anything better than a gasp. She knew this guy was going to be an ass, but she never imagined that he was going to be _this_ bad. “Who do you think you are?” She asked.

“I told you!” Lighting said with an accusatory finger pointed her way, “I’m a racer.” He took a few breaths and a couple of steps to be closer to the group. “And that was the deal! The road gets done and then I can _leave_. I want to _leave._ ” Lighting had said ‘leave’ as if he was trying to teach a small child that he hated the parents of how to read it. he had also said it with another jab of his hand towards Sally.

Chick watched Lighting’s steady approach. He grabbed the arm that was pointing, and twisted it behind Lighting’s body – holding the racing in a lock that would allow for Chick to dislocate it at any given point if he cared enough to do so. Chick’s face didn’t change the entire time that he did it. “Don’t touch her like that.”

“Stop – stop – fuck you’re hurting me,” Lighting pleaded with a struggle.

The other townies watched on, not knowing how to react.

“Am I, huh?” Chick said quietly before he let go. He’d been in enough fights to know how to deal with people like this.

“-Yeah! – what the hell, man?” Lighting asked as he took a few steps back in retaliation, rubbing the sore shoulder.

“And how do you think the rest of the town feels?” Chick replied, his own shoulders tense.

Lighting didn’t know what to do, or what was going on. He rolled his shoulder again. Nothing was bruised aside from his pride.

“The deal was that you _fixed_ the road, son, not make it worse,” the Sheriff said, getting himself between the two. He also shot a look Chick’s way, he wasn’t very happy at him.

“Look – I’m _done_ here! I’ve got a race to win,” Lighting replied as he turned back to town.

“Why don’t _we_ race, then?” Chick called out. 

That got Lighting’s attention. He stopped walking and turned around. “…. A race?”

“…. What?” Sally asked.

“Yeah – yaknow. With the cars going around in circles and stuff?”

Lighting crossed his arms. “I know what a race is, yes.”

Sally looked at them both in mild horror.

“You, me. If you win you can just pay for the road, plus whatever more it’s going to cost to remove this shit and leave. If _I_ win, you’re going to redo it from the start – and you can’t leave town until it’s done,” Chick pitched. “I’ve been looking over your car this whole time – it’s good to go.”

Lighting struggled to believe what was happening. “Yaknow what? You’ve got yourself a deal, Thunder.”

Sally’s face didn’t change. “Hang - hang on,” she started to protest.

Chick’s compartment look changed to one of mild confusion. “’Thunder?’”

“Yaknow, cause ‘thunder’ always comes after ‘Lightin’,” Lighting replied with a smile of his own.

A women’s grown could be heard from about 20 meters up the road in the direction back to the town.

Chick accepted that with a shrug. “Sally - Sally – do you count as a legal witness?” He called out.

Sally was already making her way back to town. She stopped and sighed, thinking over what she was being asked and what was going on. Not that she had any trouble in figuring it out, mind you, but more in the fact that this was actually happening. “Yeah, I guess, But-”

“Perfect,” Chick replied, clapping his hands together.

Sally just sort of, watched him and gave up trying to do anything. It was too late to intervene.

After the scene had ended and everybody had started to separate and prepare for this mock-race, Sally grabbed Chick’s arm tight enough to feel and count each strand of hair under his shirt. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She hissed.

“Don’t worry,” Chick replied with a soft smile and fairly concerning look of excitement in his dark brown eyes, “I’ve got this all under control.” 

* * *

It was a pretty impressive turnout; what looked like the whole town was there. Sure, that would be a lot more impressive if the town was bigger than a dozen or so people, but it was still impressive.

The fact that the town even _had_ a small racetrack like this was also impressive, but they could buy that. The thing hadn’t been property used or maintained in decades and it showed. The dessert sand and rocks that made up the track was dry and compacted, with only fleeting attempts of grass growing out of it. on one of the straights where wooden bleachers the same age as the track, still standing together strong enough for people to use them because of how dry it had been this whole time. It was a tiny little track of weekend races of old friends from decades gone by.

Chick pulled back the netting by Lighting’s [lack of a] window and just sort of looked into the car. it was hard to tell if he was impressed with all the glitz and dials, or was thinking up a way to insult it. “Remember now, McQueen,” Chick said, “You push _that_ pedal down there and it makes the car go forward, and the big wheel there makes the car turn.”

Lighting brushed him away like a fly. “Ha. Ha. I know how to drive a car, Mr Murphy.”

“Ya’ ever driven on dirt before?”

“ _I know how to drive a car,”_ Lighting repeated through his teeth.

Chick shrugged and pushed himself away from the #95. “Alright.”

Chick had gotten a hold of what looked like one of the nicer cars that he had in his yard to drive – the fact that it didn’t have either licence plates and the pink smudge of a wiped-away price was a bit of a giveaway o that. It was some older looking muscle car; it was probably somebody’s midlife crisis purchase twenty years ago that got sold on as soon as the first owner needed to buy a new oven.

Lighting’s car still had fresh damage from its adventure that night before, and even still some of the temporary fix (duct tape) from the race that last weekend. The engine inside the thing was totally fine, but it needed a bit of a polish to make the sponsor’s happy. Not that any of them, asides maybe the people behind Vitoline, would approve of such a race, that was.

Lighting didn’t care, he was just happy to be back inside it instead of Bessie, even if they had only filled the car up just enough for a lap and a half and that cop was sticking to his own car just in case. Well, the car and its lights were on, but the Sheriff himself was standing around the rest of the townsfolk.

Look, he didn’t care what the town thought of him anymore, but Lighting wasn’t just going to throw away such an easy chance to get out of there legitimately. He watched Chick chat once more to Sally, who responded with a facepalm, and then walk back over and into his car. Lighting was just distracted by how different it felt being in his car without his helmet on. He still half debated putting it on, it was even still on the seat next to him, but that felt like professional overkill.

“If anything, you should be rootin’ for the guy, if he wins that’s a win for you.”

Sally dropped her head in her hand. “I hate you,” she said with a sigh.

“I get that a lot, yeah,” Chick replied with a smile as he left the conversation.

The Sherriff stood before either of them, looking directly into the windshields to ensure that neither racer was going to do anything stupid. He crossed his arms and brought the rest of his body to attention. “Gentlemen!” he called out. Both drives turned their focus his way. Once he was satisfied with them he kept going with a slight back and forth pace to his stance. “This will be a one-lap race, you will drive to Willy’s Butte, go around Willy’s Butte, and _come back.”_

The Butte itself was a simple rock formation in the inside of the track it gave the old track some character.

Sherriff kept on talking. “There will be no bumpin’, no bitin’ or hittin’, no road ragin’, no back stabin’, and no loligagin’.”

The list went on. With every ‘no’ Lighting just tapped his steering wheel. He wasn’t even listing to what the cop was saying, but he could figure out the general gist well enough.

Luigi, which was his name, Lighting had found out in passing, was there with a flag and everything. It was a Ferrari-branded one, just like his cap and scarf, but hey, a flag was a flag. Luigi was standing on another elevated wooden stand that was all his own. Luigi was up there holding his flag, this looked like it could have been one of the best days of his life.

The sheriff gave him a nod, “Gentlemen! Start, your engines!” he called before he quickly jogged off the track. Both cars did just that, and both cars showed off about as much as either could.

Luigi just smiled. “On your mark!” he paused, “get set!” another, “Uno for the money, Due for the show, tre to get ready, and,” Luigi paused, it almost looked like the poor man was vibrating like a tiny dog with excitement. “Go!”

A huge storm of dust was kicked up, large enough for some of the townsfolk watching to cough in response. Luigi had jumped with his ‘go!’, making the old stand rock to the side. The dust quickly cleared with a soft breeze half a moment later.

Chick’s car hadn’t moved, and Chick himself was lying on the hood. How he managed to go from inside of it to right on top of it so fast was up to only him and the universe to know.

Confused looks got exchanged. Luigi propped his flag back out in a wave, “The flag -,” he said, not knowing if it was even worth say anything at this point, “The flag means ‘go. Remember? The fla-“

“-Shush“ Chick put his finger up as he listened. “…Turn two,” he narrated as Lighting’s car went around the butte.

“What are you doing, man?” one of the townsfolk, Ramone, a tattoo artist, called out.

Chick answered with a simple, yet still slightly cryptic, “and then….”

In the background of the shot, you could see Lighting’s car skid and completely miss turn 3. It ended up spinning and driving off into a ditch – backwards. Lighting swore loud even for everybody to hear once the car had stopped. Chick just laughed and clicked his fingers. “And off he goes! Right into the tulips! And it’s an easy win for Chick!”

* * *

Chick laughed, oh god how he laughed. It was like as if seeing Lighting and his car in that ditch fighting with a cactus to try and open the driver’s door was the most incredible thing he had ever seen in his whole life. He was right. “Oh! Kid! Is that how they do it in the Piston Cup? You’ve really gotta teach me some of ya moves!”

Lighting lost his battle with the cactus. He was just thankful he was in his suit. “Very funny, Chick.” He said as reluctantly as a man covered in cactus is allowed to be.

“You drive like you fix roads! Like shit!” He said with a laugh. “I knew you couldn’t do it!"

Lighting’s next battle was with the dirt slope back up to the track. He quickly lost that one too, falling with a roll into more cactus.

This was the best goddam day of Chick’s life, by the sound of it.

Lighting couldn’t do anything more productive than lay there in the ditch with a pout until Mater and his truck showed up to fish him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chick Hicks is a bastard and I love him so


	3. Sunset Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter only exists just so I could write townie stuff. I love them all deeply and frankly what’s the point of writing a story set during Cars 1 if you don’t? 
> 
> Every chapter I update of this thing is just getting progressively longer.

“….. Huh,” Chick thought out loud to himself as he tested the new road with a tap of his boot, “That actually worked.”

It was as if the ‘1/5th of the road fairy’ had come overnight. It was the nicest road the town had seen in decades. It was far from even being close to being done, mind you, but what was there was still rather impressive - the entire town sure thought as much. Everybody there seemed to be up a lot earlier than they usual where just so they could apricate it.

“You should have tossed him into a cactus a lot sooner!” Sally called out with a refreshing smile as she skated passed. Sally was on a skateboard testing out the new road at the time, a little fact and tidbit that will never be addressed again. “This is amazing!”

“Ah-ha, yeah,” Chick called back with an arm out to use as a level for a quick turn back around and up the street, “You deal with all the legal gunk, I’ll deal with the idiots who crash by.”

‘Bessie’ had been parked out to the side of one of the intersecting roads, and cones had been left around her. It hadn’t just been dumped there, some actual care and effort had been put in to park it out of the way of everything else.

“No, where the hell _is_ that idiot?” Chick said, still talking to himself. 

* * *

Chick’s first guess had been that he had made a straight run for it, but his second turned out to be right.

Sherriff had been sitting on the bleachers, his country hat on his head, and his legs resting upon the seats before him. He had heard Chick drive up and approach him, but kept most of his attention to the racetrack. 

“Morning.” He greeted with a nod.

“Mornin’. What’s goin’ on here?” Chick back called out, watching Lighting #95 car drive past them at a competition speed.

“He ran out of asphalt in the middle of the night, and he wanted to come down here to practice,” Sherriff explained, “All the poor kid wants to do is make that there turn.”

The two watched Lighting attempt, and then fail, at the 3rd turn. The car spun around, and as soon as it was facing the right way it sped off to try again. It was only impressive to watch since it was a bit of a novelty.

“…Why don’t you go and get yourself a bite to eat at Flo’s?” Chick offered, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Oh, well thank you,” Sheriff replied with a smile, the two swapping their respective car keys in a single, well-experienced motion.

* * *

“What’s your game plan here?” A sudden voice came from the outside of the vehicle with a thud.

Lighting jumped in his seat with a sharp ‘NGH’. He had just spun out for what felt like the millionth time that morning. He was absolutely not in the right headspace to talk to anybody just now.

It was Chick, once again pulling back the netting next to Lighting’s window, It felt like he was going to end up breaking it off at this pace. “Help me try and get into your head – because it looks like you haven’t made this turn once the whole time you’ve been out here – this on purpose?”

Lighting sighed, “What do you want, Chick? To gloat?”

“Yes, actually,” Chick replied with an eager nod. “Plus – I do also know how to turn left on dirt so I was wondering if I could help ya out a little.”

“I don’t want your advice.”

“Look,” Chick began, completely ignoring anything that Lighting had to say, “This isn’t asphalt you’re drivin’ on and you can’t treat it like it – this is dirt.”

“Is it? That sure is news to me.”

Chick chose to ignore Lighting’s sarcasm. “And this big flashy race car of yours doesn’t have three-wheel drive, so you gotta pitch it hard – break loose – and then just drive with the throttle, okay? You keep doin’ whatca doin’ and you’re gonna end up with more cactus on ya than brands.” Chick waited for a reply, but didn’t get one. “Plus, you’re using the completely wrong tires for this track. That alone is hurting your performance.”

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Yep,” Chick said. “Every day I’ve woken up with the fantasy of being able to bully a race car driver, and now that it’s come true I’m going to milk every second for what it’s worth.”

Lighting just leered. “…So now you’re now a racing expert, all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, I am, actually. ‘Twas a huge part of my carrier once upon a time.” Chick replied flatly. “And I’ve driven these types of cars for longer than you’ve probably been alive. Look I’ll make it simple for ya, if you’re going hard enough left, you’ll find yourself turning right.”

Lighting kept his hand tight on the steering wheel. “Really?” His voice sounding actually genuine this time, “Is that is? ‘turn right to go left?’ Oh – thank you Mr Murphy! That is exactly what I’ve been doing wrong this whole time! Thank you!”

Lighting sped the car away, forcing Chick to take a few steps back away so he wouldn’t lose a foot from a turning back tire. Chick coughed away the kicked up dirt and watched the car drive off for another try.

Oh well, at least he tried.

Chick jogged towards the middle of the track and watched on from there with his hands in his pockets. Chick watched Lighting speed all the way down the straight, and instead of making that turn like he had been trying to do this whole time, go completely in the wrong direction and through a large cactus, ending up once again in the same ditch he had ended up in the day before.

It was just as funny as the first time he had done it. 

* * *

The rest of the day was its usual slug. Hot sun, no business, and Lighting being forced by law to sit in a big expensive machine and drive it in a straight line. Usually, he enjoyed sitting in big expensive machines and driving it in a straight line, but this time, for some odd reason, wasn’t as fun as he usual found it. At least he had air-con and 3 and a half radio stations to keep himself company, all of which playing ‘oldies’ stations. Lighting never considered himself as being a fan of country music, but it sure had the ability to make you a fan if you’re stuck listing to it for several hours solid.

At around ‘Sweet Home Alabama’s’ into the day, a new broadcast played. Usually, the stations that town picked up seemed to use the same stock ‘local Arizona’ report, but this one started with the usual RSN jingle. It practically triggered the poor guy’s fight-or-flight response.

“And we'll be back for our Hank Williams marathon after a Piston Cup update.” The radio announced. Lighting just froze, turned the radio up a little, and kept himself still. “-Still no sign of or from Lighting McQueen, and no comment from his sponsors. Meanwhile, Doc Hudson arrived in California today and was able to get some practice time on the track.” The radio changed to audio recordings of the other racer. It sounded like he had been surrounded by the media at the time.

“It’s good to finally be out here and get a little bit of a head start,” Doc started, “but it sure is a shame to be the only one, yaknow? I’m just hoping that the boy’s all fine, would hate to find out that something bad happened to him.”

“What’s your plan if Lighting doesn’t [race]?” the reporter asked. The ‘race’ was hard to hear as she moved the mic away from herself and back to Doc as she had said it.

“Ah, well, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” Doc replied without missing a beat. “You’d have to ask the event organizers there, but if McQueen is all fine somewhere and they want to do a sort of scratch race to give the folks with ticket’s already bought, that’d be fine with m-“

Lighting quickly turned Bessie off and stumbled out of the cab. He needed air and he needed space. There was plenty of both out in the town.

The middle-of-the-day hit differently when you’ve been given the chance to ease into it. One of the same radio stations that had been playing was far enough away that you couldn’t quite tell what was playing, but could figure out that _something_ was. Lighting sighed and let himself shake that ‘bleah’ feeling out. He needed to stretch his legs a little, anyways.

Over by one of old stores, in an area of the concrete verandah that was soaking up the sun, Lighting spotted Sherriff and Ramone just sort of hanging out next to each other, each in their own, hard plastic chair. Both chairs looked like they had been there for years untouched. They were hard plastic, but didn’t really _need_ to be much else. Ramone had a can of soda in one hand and a pen in the other and Sherriff looked as if he was at least half asleep, likely more, with his body know and his hat over his eyes.

Behind them next to a door was a vintage soda machine, the whole thing was made of metal and what wasn’t painted directly onto it was faded blue. The ‘S’ on the ‘Slurp’ on the side looked like it had been kicked in quite a lot and the few lights on its front still glowed green with a soft buzz.

Lighting offered a small wave; Ramone gave it back.

“Hey, Lightin’,” Ramone called over in a fairly thick accent. He turned his sketch pad around; It was covered in a decent assortment of pencil sketches of various cacti all in the same, ‘vintage-esk’ style. “You’ve been a bit of a muse, of late.” They were new tattoo designs, by the looks of it.

Lighting put his hands on his hips. “this town thinks it’s _so_ funny, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ramone said with a smile as he put the book back to his side.

Lighting rolled his eyes with a soft ‘tsk.’ “How much are these?” he asked, taking a few more steps up and pointing towards the old vending machine. He had already reached in for his wallet by the time Ramone Replied.

Ramone shrugged. “Just kick it.”

Lighting went up to it and did just that, hitting it a little harder than he really needed too. An off-brand cola can fell out with a clunk, but was still completely in-date. Half of the can’s contents spilled all over Lighting’s hand when he opened it.

“That old thing hasn’t worked right for years,” Ramone said with a sip of his drink, both cans where of the same brand, “But it makes for a neat cooler.”

Lighting didn’t realize how thirsty he had been until he accidentally crushed the can in his hand. “Hey Sherriff, I’m going to go and grab a snack,” he announced once he was done.

The sheriff waved him off like a fly with half of a ‘neh.’

Ramone laughed a little at that, elbowing Sherriff in the air.

“You’re my witness on this,” Lighting then directed to Ramone.

Ramone offered him a thumbs-up. “Can do, boss.”

* * *

Lighting could hear some arguing between Luigi and Guido in rapid-fire Italian and could smell of fresh paint as he walked around the town. The two were in the middle of repainting the baby blue of the front of their store, and also appeared to be the source of that radio lighting could hear. The radio was sitting on top of a small stack of tires in a display that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. 

Flo’s diner was also open. It wasn’t the only food store in town, but seemed to be the only one still in business. Walking in there like being transported directly to some long-forgotten summer’s day in 1954.

Lighting had only really intended to buy a sandwich and a coffee or something like that from the diner, but as soon as he had walked into the building there was already a whole meal made and waiting for him stored away in that display box by the front that they keep warm food in. Lighting didn’t actually know what those where called, but he wasn’t going to just sit around and find out. Flo left the food directly on the table closeted to him with a soft smile before going over to attend to others.

“Eat up,” Flo had ordered as she walked away.

Lighting looked down at the plate before him and took a careful seat. It looked like something that should be on a poster from the 50’s advertising America itself to the rest of the world – it was almost surreal. A beef burger with a lightly toasted bun, thick-cut fries smothered in chicken salt, and some salad to the side. Oh well, he had his wallet on him, the tab wouldn’t be much of an issue. He looked around the diner and took a careful bite of the burger.

_Oh my god._

He inhaled the rest of the burger in about three and a half bites. 

Lighting could hear Flo chuckle softly to herself at his reaction. She must have done something right.

Sarge and Filmore, two older local guys who Lighting had only seen hanging next to each other, had been eating lunch at same the time in their own booth towards the back of the diner. They looked comfortable where they sat, as if they had sat and eaten food in the same spot every day. The two had watched Lighting enter but quickly went back to their prior conversation soon after.

Lighting looked around the diner a little more as he washed some of his food down with the soda. Red booths and slick, shiny tables, black and white tiles on the floor, framed posters of vintage cars and route 66 merchandise all over the walls. The big windows there gave you a very good view of the main street and who was coming and going. Flo’s diner looked like a themed restaurant, but it was all completely genuine.

By the time Lighting had looked back down at his food there was an entirely new burger on the table.

* * *

The sun had already begun to set by the time that Lighting finally stopped for the day. The break in the middle sure helped keep him sane, but by now he actually needed to rest. The machine was all out of asphalt by this point, and the job of leading it to the side and putting the cones all around it became all his.

A voice called out from the other side of the road in the same moment that he had placed the last cone. “Hey, Monte!”

It took about 3 more ‘Monties’ before Lighting realized that he was being addressed. 

“Oh - Hey, Sal,” Lighting replied. He didn’t know exactly what else to say.

It was Sally, but a lot more relaxed Sally than Lighting was used too. She looked she had just been out on a run.

“Working hard or hardly working?”

Lighting exhaled and rolled his shoulders around in a stretch. “Needing to sleep is a curse.”

You could tell where the road he had paved that day and the day before met. Not because of a clear seme or gross overlap, but just in how visually softer the tarmac looked. Lighting was making a lot faster progress that had originally been forecast - his stamina for operating heaving machinery was probably a lot higher than anybody else’s in the town.

“Look’s good so far,” Sally offered.

Lighting kept on stretching and pushed his hair out of his face. It looked like he was trying to pose for ‘candid’ pit photos. “It still sucks that _I_ have to do it,” he said with a soft face.

Sally wasn’t going to fall for that. “Ah well, ya’know, that’s just how we do it in ‘Hillybilly Hell.”

Lighting blushed a little. “Okay - I didn’t _really_ mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah, I did.”

There was a break in their conversation. It felt like that space should have been used for laughter, but neither made any.

“So uh,” Sally scratched the side of her neck, “Did you want to go and grab a drink?”

Lighting paused. He could feel himself snap to attention as if he had just been slapped in the face. “Pardon?”

“I- uh,” It was Sally’s turn to blush.

Lighting waited patiently for a response.

“Well, you’ve been out here all day in the heat, and if you’re free now I just thought it just might be nice to wind down a bit. There’s no real bar in town but I’ve got drinks back at the motel…”

Lighting nodded slowly. “….. Drinks at your place,” he interjected, just to be sure.

Sally paused as if trying to work out what she had just said. “Holy shit - that was the worst possible way for me to have worded that,” she concluded with a big of a laugh. “Sorry I- we don’t get many people out here. You knew what I meant.”

Lighting laughed with her. “I sure hope I do. What’s that called? A ‘Jungian slip?’”

“… A what?” Sally asked as if she had heard him wrong. “A ‘ _Jungian_ ’ slip? It’s ‘Freud’ – you’ve managed to get the entirely wrong psychologist there.”

Lighting surged a sheepish shrug. “My brain’s only on at about 43% of the time.”

Sally laughed again. “I could believe that.”

Lighting looked back up at Bessie. “…Yeah, knocking off sounds like a good idea, actually. I just need to drop the keys back at the courthouse, so I don’t just ‘happen to’ loose em.” he said, spinning them around on his finger on muscle memory alone.

* * *

The sun was setting almost exactly behind the small mountain behind the Court House, leaving everything to be shadowed in a nice, quickly fading orange-ery red glow. It was a peaceful orange, the kind that you wished would never end. The courthouse was all open and unlocked, even the garage to the side housing an old-looking fire truck was left rolled up and there for anybody to walk into. Lighting wondered briefly how old it had been since it had last been used. He had seen somebody who looked like he could have been a firefighter hanging around town, but he couldn’t be sure of that. 

‘Stanley’, as what was written on the plaque on the base, had been put back in place sometime during the day. He was life-size and looked like he knew what he was doing. Lighting saw the shaving on one of his sides from being dragged along the road and winced to himself. It was only really noticeable if you were looking, and Lighting was looking.

“He’s our town founder,” Sally informed, already starting the walk back down the road to the motel.

“He looks like one,” Lighting replied.

“The story goes that ‘round here was the only spring for miles – the story he liked to tell was that the first thing that he did once he found it was cool his car’s radiator off before he collected any for himself.”

“He came here in a car?”

“Apparently his plan was to go all the way to California but ended up setting up shop here.” Sally crossed her arms to keep them together, “The town was settled a little before Route 66 was commissioned, and he somehow managed to get it to run all the way through right here.” Her arms went back out to signal the line of ‘right here’ down the main road. “No doctor’s, no bar, just a small group of good people and their businesses left nowdays,” Sally said with a sigh, “This town doesn’t have much time left, I don’t think,” Sally spoke with a soft lingering feeling of hope in her voice, almost if she had waited for a long time to speak about it with another person.

Lighting didn’t have a good response to that. What was he supposed to say? ‘sorry?’ “Well, at least you guys are still here,” was what he came up with.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Sally replied, looking back at Lighting.

Lighting looked up at the statue one last time. “Is this one of those ‘Carrera-branded speeches’ that Chick had talked about before?”

Sally’s shoulders dropped. “Oh - be quiet. You’re just as bad as he is.”

Lighting faked a soft gasp, putting his hand to his chest. “Oh c’mon. That’s just being mean.”

Sally laughed at that “Nah he’s fine, really,” she said with another shrug. “That man’s an affectionate bully at worse. Chick’s got about four jokes and he’s already used them all on you.”

“I could swear to you that I’ve seen the man somewhere else before, but I can’t pinpoint it,” Lighting thought out loud, “Did Chick ever do tv?”

Sally thought for half a moment. “Well, if he did, you’d be the first held blabber about it too. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, he just that _vibe_ , yaknow?” Lighting started to ramble to himself. “Some sort of illegal TV salesman who’s come here to hide from the feds, or something. I dunno.”

Sally ‘huh’ed at that. 

The two kept on walking. The couple of streetlights that the town had were already on, but they weren’t very bright. A small trickle of light from each instead of a downpour.

“Are you comfortable in that?” Sally asked.

It took Lighting half a second to figure out what she was referring too. He looked down at the bottom half of his suit, the top half tied around his waist like a sweater. “Could be worse, it just needs a wash, if anything,” he replied.

Sally took that as a fine answer.

Flo’s diner was the only place left in the town that still had any life in it; it looked like what could have been the entire rest of the town hanging around inside, the warm light was rolling out onto the street and to the empty buildings like an oil painting. It would have made for a much better subject for a postcard than the mountains did. It sounded like somebody had told a joke, as quite a lot of people laughed outwardly. There was some music playing.

“Flo’s probably already got a whole dinner made up for you,” Sally guessed, noticing that Lighting had stopped to admire the atmosphere.

Lighting faked a wince and gave a single pat to his gut. “Aweh, babe - I’m still full from lunch.”

Sally chuckled at that, that was fair. “Yeah, she does that.”

The town barely felt like a town, but more like a truck stop after a whole train of truckers had stopped for the night and were standing around a portable BBQ sharing stories and other tangents of wisdom. Lighting had seen a few of those in-person while on the road from race to race, but he had never attended any of them. He usually just spent that time in his trailer hanging out with whatever member of his crew was still asleep back there.

His crew.

Oh man, Lighting still had to find a replace pit crew for his race, if he was ever going to actually make it. He had almost completely forgotten about i-

Lighting yawned into the back of his hand. It wasn’t a dainty, ‘could use a nap’ yawn, it was loud and took Lighting’s whole face contorting like a cats’ to try and get it out. To be honest with you, he hadn’t really been doing all-that much sleeping in the last 30-something hours.

“Hey, if you want to stay in a room at the Cosy Cone, you’re more than welcome too,” Sally offered once he was done. There was a full vacancy – not that that was a necessarily bad thing. “I’ll just pass that onto Sherriff.”

Lighting stopped walking. “Hey - hang on, you’re being _too_ nice to me here,” he teased, “Didya lose a bet or something?”

Sally rolled her eyes with the second half a soft laugh. “I mean… if you want to stay in the courthouse, that’s totally fine. You know, I understand you criminal types.”

“No, no,” Lighting tried to recover, skipping a little so he was standing before her, “No that’s okay – yeah. The Cone.” He looked over at the motel. The whole placed screamed out ‘70’s art project let loose’ and suited the town better than you would have guessed. “That sounds super nice, thank you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story doesn't pass the Chick Hicks-Bechdel test. I too, struggle to pass the Chick Hicks-Bechdel test.


	4. Going The Same Direction

The desert night air and atmosphere did a lot to cleanse the mind. The sky was clear and the only light pollution for miles was what little light the town gave off.

Somewhere around 2:45 that morning, Lighting McQueen could be found walking along that road, his racing suit zipped all the way up from the cold and his hands in his pockets, kicking at any of the rocks he found on his way and listening out for anything approaching him. It was that nice peace and quiet that the town was known for, just now without any of the horrible, Arizonian heat. He saw his shadow cast long across the road from an oncoming headlight, scooted himself to the side off the road, and turned around to try and make out who it was, his hand going out like a hitchhiker’s to get their attention as he did it.

The car in question had been driving fairly slowly, and pulled to a creep once it was close enough to talk to Lighting in-person. Boxy yet smooth, the car itself was a muted green and a little scrappy with a neat collection of dents and very much aged; sure, but it all worked fine. There were two dark strips going from bonnet to hood. It looked like it would have been fairly expensive when it had come out 20, 30 years ago. There were some old, faded bumper stickers all over the back windows.

The driver crept the car forward. 

It was Chick.

You could see Lighting’s face fall ever-so-slightly. He put down his arm and sighed.

Chick rolled down the window and leaned out, looking Lighting up and down, and then spoke. “Nice morning for a walk, ain’t it? Just wondering if you’re lost or anythin’, that’s all.” Chick’s face was hard to read. It was quite, a little bit dadish, perhaps as if was trying to decide if he was going to scold or give a pat on the back.

“What do you want, Chick?” Lighting asked. “How’d ya even know I was out here? Sherriff?”

Chick shrugged. “I’m magic - and if he _is_ awake, he hasn’t called me about you yet.”

Lighting didn’t give a verbal response to that.

“So. Is this a training thing or just a positive sign that you’ve finally snapped?” 

“Piss off.”

“Ha,” Chick ‘ha’ed. “No but seri-“

“-Can you just buzz off?” Lighting snapped. The night was cold enough that you could see the steam coming from his mouth.

Chick didn’t. He wasn’t even close to being done. “So you’ve ended up with enough free range to end up out here on your own, but you haven’t tried and call anyone?”

Lighting was clearly done with the conversation. “I dunno,” he said with a quiet shrug, kicking a bit of loose, faded asphalt, “Nobody really to call.”

“Or nobody you know the number of?”

“…I guess.” Lighting surrender. Both men knew that the second the right person was called, an entire horde of media would follow them in. That was yet to happen.

Chick gave a small chuckle at that before growing serious again. “It’s a long walk to the interstate, kid. What? An Hour? Two? At least you’re not trying this in the sun, heatstroke is a bitch and a half to get.”

“Who says I’m trying to make it to the interstate?” Lighting replied.

Chick cocked his head to one side. “I told ya, I’m magic.”

For some reason, Lighting didn’t believe him all that much.

Chick exhaled and relaxed his shoulders a little more. “C’Mon, kiddo, lemmy drive ya back.”

“I’m not a kid,” Lighting protested. “And I don’t like it when you call me that, okay? It’s kinda patronizing.”

Chick shrugged. “Alright, _McQueen_ ,” he complied, it didn’t sound right – not in the way that Chick had said it. “But either you go back with the town with me or I’ll just wake up the Sherriff and he can do it.”

“you can’t force me, I’m a free man.”

Chick laughed. “No, you’re absolutely not.”

-

Chick’s car was about the same level of wear in the inside as was the outside. A manual, and with a collection of cassette tapes in a glove box that, although the box was missing it’s cover, was kept in with a bit of old mesh of some kind attached with staples. Some of the extra cassettes fell to the side as the car turned around. There were three different styles of sunglasses on the dash and the back seats looked almost untouched, and Chick was sitting on an old towel on the driver’s one. Parts of the car looked like it had been stripped out years ago, almost as if it had been a taxi before Chick got his hands on it.

Neither of them talked all that much during the 10-minute ride back to the town. Chick because he was waiting for Lighting to start the conversation, and Lighting because he was too busy pouting to make small talk.

“Your car’s kinda shit,” was how Lighting opened the conversation.

Chick snorted at that. “It ain’t much of a fancy race car like yours, but it sure makes for a good getaway one.”

Lighting watched him change up a gear, Chick’s wrist was loose as he did it. “Not really.”

“ _Emotional_ getaway, then,” Chick corrected before he patted the side of the steering wheel for empathizes. “First time I came to Radiator Springs was in this car.”

“…I can tell. You haven’t yet left in it, have you?”

Chick pulled up by the courthouse. The outside streetlight by it was on, but none of the lights inside were – it was exactly like Lighting had left it. That old police car was at the front. “Nope.”

Lighting got out of the car, not wanting to close the door behind him. He looked back into the cab. “I was actually staying back at the Cone tonight. Couldn’t really sleep,” he said a bit sheepishly.

“Ya gonna go back?”

Lighting looked down the street over at the Cosy Cone’s bright neon ‘VACENTCY’ sign. “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Well get back in the car, you idiot,” Chick said, “We’re both going the same direction.”

* * *

Lighting slept in for quite a bit that morning - it’s not like it was his fault. It still annoyed him greatly, what with how much sunlight he had thrown away with no good reason too.

Either way, that was something for him to be mad at past himself about.

Lighting kicked off the cotton sheet and sulked a little into the motel’s popcorn ceiling. Then some of the things, almost all cone themed, on the walls, and then to the window. A beam of light went directly into Lighting’s eyes as if it was a bullet.

Right, yeah, okay. Lighting was up now.

Lighting stretched and patted himself down. He ended up down at his pocket out of instinct.

Ah. Fuck.

His wallet was gone, and nowhere in the motel. The pockets on his suit where barely deep enough for your hands to rest in, let along for anything useful to say in it.

Chick’s lot looked just as run down as the rest of the town, even the cars for sale looked just as depressing. (Although, they were also actually rather affordable, considering how old and well-kept most of the cars there were) Prices had been written on the tops of windshields in bright pink paint marker and the ground was gravel with patches of long grass peeking through. The business part of the lot was a garage with an office to the side. Lighting wondered if Chick lived there, with an old outside beer fringe by the garage looked like he might. There was an actual garage, a second one, and a metal rain cover between the two. The paved area under that cover had a not-in-use jack under it; it must have been where Chick worked on the cars before he sold them on. It wasn’t all that homely, but it fitted. 

There was a sign on the fence around the lot; ‘Chick’s Picks,’ with a crude painting of a little green car with a smiling face on it. Lighting guessed that Chick must have painted that bit himself.

Chick’s own car, the same one from the night before, had been put in the open garage. You could see the green of its paint a lot better in the daylight than you could that night. The car that he had ‘raced’ Lighting in was back on the lot.

Lighting jogged his way to the front door and was greeted in the window by both a ‘closed’ sign and a ‘back at; with that clock face and little hands that gave a time’ sign. The second was sun-bleached and was pointing to around 10:30.

Lighting sighed, Chick must have been out having breakfast.

“Hello?” Lighting called into the garage. Nobody.

Well, hopefully, Chick wouldn’t mind, he _did_ leave it all open.

And there it was! Right on the passenger seat – and the passenger window was still all the way down. Lighting took a quick look out of the garage door, and then reached his hand through the window and picked up his wallet. It had a lightning bolt lasered onto the front and everything.

Lighting checked that it was all still there – yep, a couple of credit cards, coffee loyalty card, license, gold thing-

His attention got diverted to something shiny and stashed away that caught his eye.

Wait – no. That wasn’t in his wallet.

Lighting stopped and leaned himself forwards to look around to the behind of one of the doors.

It was a trophy. A big, gold, Piston Cup Trophy with Chick’s name written on it and a big ‘1989’ written under that. The cup was being used to store some lugnuts and looked like it hadn’t been properly cared for in decades. It was sitting half behind what looked like a stolen road sign full of bullet holes.

“… Oh no,” Lighting said quietly to himself, studying over the wall, “He’s _that_ Chick.” A lot suddenly started to make sense. Lighting had heard about the fabled ‘Chick Hick’s, the ‘Hicks’ being part of stage name to make him sound cooler - much like Lighting’s ‘Lighting’ - but the image of that once scrappy heel of the mid-80’s racing world and the one of the nobody who took his place didn’t quite match each other. Other than the mustache, perhaps.

Well. Actually, the more that Lighting stared at the cup the more it all started to make sens-

“The sign says ‘stay out’,” a voice came from the gate. Lighting felt his soul temporarily leave his body and beat him to California.

It was Chick, this time in a bowling shirt. He didn’t look the slightest bit like his usual, cheery self.

“Your-you’re _that_ Chick,” Lighting stumbled with nothing else to say. He could hardly believe it.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“My-“ Lighting dug (not very far) in his pocket and flashed it, “I left my wallet in your car last night - and you weren’t here so-,” he decided to stop there. “…. I’m sorry, Mr Murphy. I should have just asked.” 

Chick took a moment to find the right thing to say. “Huh,” was what he came up with. “Well you’ve got it, now leave – or I’ll get you for trespassing.”

Lighting wasn’t done being a bother. He was actually starting to get super excited at what he was seeing. “You’re the guy who killed-“

“ _Shut it_.” Chick said loudly and sternly enough to completely stop Lighting in his tracks. He physically pushed Lighting out of the garage and tried his best to close the door on him. “And I _didn’t_. That’s not at all what happened and making out that poor man’s crash as some great spectacle is just being disrespectful.”

Lighting wasn’t even given the chance to continue the conversation. The garage doors were closed with enough force that it was a miracle that they were still attached to the walls. A million thoughts ran through Lighting’s mind, but only one bubbled its way up to the top. _‘Huh.’_

And that was the end of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Doc isn’t around, Sally has to be the one with the town’s braincell
> 
> I was gonna have Strip in this story, but having two old men in the tiebreaker felt redundant. DOn't worry - he'll show up eventually.


End file.
